


No Where Left to Go

by LycanLover



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Death, Demonic Possession, Established Relationship, M/M, Religious Themes, Slash, Torture, Violence, demonic!Stiles, possible sexy times, toss in some Destiel longing and we're all set, we'll see what the muse says when that rolls around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-09 14:36:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LycanLover/pseuds/LycanLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And here Stiles thought training and helping run a pack of werewolves was going to be the highlight of his supernatural life. Turns out the world is ending. Who knew?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunday School Segregation

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! There's been name change recently, so some of you may know me by at least two other pen names. However, this is pretty much where all my TW fic is going. This is my 'reward' fic to write once I get the same amount of words written on my original short stories. 
> 
> I was inspired by the demon!Stiles gif sets I'd seen on my dash and it's been so long since I played in the SPN fandom. And I do love my demons... This isn't QUITE like what you're probably thinking though. Read on to see!

\---

Stiles had never been so excited to move. He was only four, so it wasn't like he had lots of little friends to pout over leaving behind. His mother, his sweet, warm mother, had mostly kept him at home with her. Not that he really minded. He got to help her dust and bake their favorite cookies every Thursday afternoon. What was better? Except for the naps. Naps were bad stuff, like greens and sitting still during the dinner blessing when there were hot rolls right in front of his plate.

He may have gotten in trouble a time or twenty for trying to sneak one and then grumbling loudly when his little hand was popped.

But now he was somewhere new! And his Papa had said that now they could find a nice preschool for Stiles to go to. "Meet some kids his own age. He needs to socialize, Beth."

Stiles didn't know what socializing was, but it didn't sound as fun as meeting other kids.

And they were going to find a church. Stiles didn't know why they didn't go to church before, but they were now. 

So there he was, all dressed up in his handsome clothes, mouth going a mile a minute as he babbled and asked an endless string of questions about the place.

"Are there going to be other kids, Mama?"

Beth Stilinki scooped up his clip on tie from where he'd tossed it on the car seat, easily slipping it back on. "Yes, in Sunday School."

"Will they like me? How many are there? Will it just be us in there? What are we going to do? I hope there's games!"

"Just calm down there, big guy," his Papa said. He took ahold of one of his son's small hands, shaking his head when Stiles immediately held the other out for his mother to take. They made their way to a small side door on the church, following several other families with small children. "You have to be on your best behavior. Understand?"

Stiles nodded vigorously, his neatly combed hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes. "You'll be with me right?" If they were there, it wasn't like he could do anything anyways. Not that he would. His Mama always got the most awful look on her face when he was bad.

"Um, no, sweetie." Beth knelt down in front of him as they stopped outside a simple door that had a brightly colored Bible verse painted on it. "This is your class. Papa and I are going to be right down the hall," she finger pointed to another door further down. "But if anything happens, your teacher will come get us. Okay?"

His face uncharacteristically serious, Stiles gripped her hands tightly, holding on like if he let go he'd never see her again. He didn't know why, but something squirming in his tummy had him scared. Like when he had to wait at the doctor's office and he knew he was going to get a shot. "No," his little head shook back and forth. "No! Mama, don't leave me here! No, Mama, no!"

"Oh, baby." Beth picked him up, giving her husband a shrug. Stiles had never acted like this before. Sure he'd been scared, but never so clingy.

"It's just separation anxiety," he said. "He'll have to tough his way through it like every other kid. Come on. He'll be okay. Let's see how long he lasts. He'll probably get all caught up in their games and activities he won't want to leave when we get back from the service."

"No, Mama, don't go," Stiles whimpered. "I don't want to be alone here. I don't like church. I want to leave. Mama, can we go home? Please? I itch!"

Steeling her heart, Elizabeth Stilinski sat her only son down. She brushed his bangs back again, taking in the snotty red nose and teary eyes. She had kept him with her ever since he'd been born. She'd avoided the church for years, not sure how welcome she would be after everything that had happened when Stiles had been born back in Wisconsin. It was her biggest secret, something she hadn't even shared with her husband, afraid of how he would react.

There was no telling how someone would react if they were told that their wife didn't actually remember two years of her life and the birth of their son.

But now she had finally come to grips with it. It took over four years, but she was okay again. And it was time to let go of her not-such-a-baby-anymore child. He was old enough now to start learning things she couldn't teach him, like how to make friends.

"We'll be just a few doors down. Look," she turned him around and pointed over his shoulder, "do you see the board games? Connect Four! Why don't you go ask one of the other kids to play with you?"

Stiles sniffled. He glanced at her one last time, staring at her hopeful smile. With a chest heaving sigh, Stiles jutted his chin out and frog marched himself into the room. He could be a big boy. His Papa was always saying that he wasn't a baby anymore, so that meant he got to do big boy stuff. This was big boy stuff. He could do it. 

Beth stood back and watched nervously as Stiles took a look around the room. There were several small children in there with him, most playing together and ignoring everything except whatever game they happened to be playing. With determination that should have looked out of place on a four year old, Stiles straightened his shoulders, giving a nervous scratch to his wrist, and came up behind a small boy with a mass of curly brown hair. 

"Hi," he said. "I'm Stiles." He held his little hand out like he'd seen his Papa do to the police man that had come to their new house earlier that week.

"I'm Scott." He smiled up at Stiles, one tooth missing and causing the obvious lisp to his pronunciation. 

"Wow," Stiles gasped. "You got a tooth gone!"

"Yeah," Scott blushed. "I fell."

Beth nearly laughed at the concern on her son's face. 

"Come on," said the newest Deputy of Beacon Hills. "He looks okay to me."

"I guess." Beth gave one last glance over at him, frowning as he continued to scratch at the back of his wrist, but let her husband lead her away.

\--- 

It wasn't until after the service was started that one of the teachers from Stiles' room came quietly into the chapel. She waved Beth down and with a pat on her husband's leg, she quietly left with her.

"He's started crying and we can't seem to get him to stop. He won't stop picking at the rash on his wrist either. Is there any cream he supposed to have to go on it?"

"Rash?" Beth hurried. "He didn't have a rash this morning."

"Well, he's got one now. It looks really raw too."

With a tight frown, Beth barely kept herself from bursting into the room and frightening all the other children. She quickly located Stiles who was squirming and screaming in the arms of one of the other teachers. She was trying her best to get him to calm down and let her look at his wrist, but he wasn't having it.

"Let me go! Let me go! Let me go! I want my Mama! I want my Mama! Where's my Mama! What did you do with her! She's suppose to be in the door over there! She said! She said!"

"Stiles!" Beth rushed over, nearly twisting her ankle on a pile of Legos. "Come here, baby. I'm right here."

Stiles jumped into her arms, sobbing and hiccuping his way through some kind of babbled explanation of his actions and asking where was she, why wasn't she there, because he called and called and they just made him sit down. And if there was one thing Stiles Stilinski hated, it was sitting still.

"I'm here now, honey." She nodded her thanks as the teacher stood and offered her the rocking chair she'd been sitting in. "Come on. Let Mama see your hand. Does it hurt?"

"Uh huh." He sniffled, wiping a stream of snot onto his dress shirt before holding the arm out for her to inspect. "It hurts."

"Did you bump it?" She rolled the sleeve up and gasped, fighting to hold back the lurch of concern at the nearly bleeding rash that surrounded his left wrist. "Oh, Stiles. Okay, let's go get Papa and go home so we can see about putting some cream on this." She stood, gathering his small coat and the tie he'd yet again managed to work off. "I need you to be very very quiet while we go to the chapel. They're still having service in there and it's rude to be loud and interrupt."

"Quiet like a mouse," Stiles nodded. He held his wrist close to his chest, trying his best not to cry out loud. He settled down into his mother's arms, the only place he was ever able to be still for more than a few minutes.

It was as they were entering the hallway that led behind the chapel that something happened. 

Right as Beth passed through the door, it felt like Stiles was wrenched out of her arms, falling to the floor with a cry.

"Stiles!" She hurried back and picked him up again. "What happened? Did you grab the door frame?"

"No, Mama!" Stiles sobbed harder, and Beth could hear the murmurs from down the hall. 

She looked around the doorframe and with a slow step, tried to step into the hallway again. Except Stiles was jerked yet again. She held on tightly, and stepped back with him. "What the…" Unsure of what exactly had happened, Beth moved to go back to the nursery. Stiles would have to wait there while she got her husband since it seemed, for whatever reason, she couldn't get him through the door. 

Except it happened again.

"Oh my God." She was starting to panic, and Stiles was picking up on it, his cries turning into full out screams of terror. "Help! Someone!"

Only one person came barreling out of the chapel doors, the priest's wife who had led the songs at the beginning of service. "What's wrong?"

"I-I don't' know!" Beth frantically held Stiles closer to her. "We can't move!"

The woman had come rather close to them until she said that. Taking a large step back, the lady of the church asked, "Both of you?"

Elizabeth didn't understand why the woman needed the clarification, but said, "Well, no. I could pass. I did earlier. But my son, Stiles, he's stuck."

Her face closed off. Eyes hardening as she turned and didn't say another word as she entered the chapel. Not a minute later the preacher himself came hurrying out, but he too stayed far back. He looked at Stiles, his face clearly unable to understand the situation. "Madame, I must ask, is this your flesh and blood child?"

"Of course he is," Elizabeth snapped. "What kind of question is that?"

"It's just," he hesitated. "It seems the Lord does _not_ welcome your boy into his house."

She gaped at him, unconsciously squeezing Stiles tighter to her chest. "How dare you! What makes you say such a horrible thing?"

He gestured upwards to the ceiling. Elizabeth looked, eyes taking in the mural that was painted there. She looked harder when something didn't look quite right. There, in the clouds that were peppered with angels and saints, painted to look like shadows and curves in the white, was a pentagram.

There were no words she could say, her mind blanked at the site of it. What kind of church had something like that? They'd only heard wonderful things about this town. Obviously there was more going on than they realized.

"It is a trap, Madame. A warning to those of us that are pure in soul and able to come into our Father's house that there is evil nearby. In someone close to us."

Tears burned at Elizabeth's brown eyes. She looked down at her only son, his gaze a perfect match to her own. "You're telling me that you think my child--"

"Yes. I'm sorry," he said. "I must ask you to leave. I will stay here with the boy while you gather your husband, and then open the trap long enough for you to go. But don't return with _him_ again. He is not welcome."

She was appalled at his severe expression and the harshness of his words. With tears falling, Beth pried Stiles off and ran for the chapel, screaming her husband's name and not caring how crazy she sounded to those around them. All she could hear was Stiles, beating his fists again some kind of invisible barrier and crying for her to come back to him.

They never returned, not bothering to even try and attend another church after they convinced a pastor two towns over to come and look at Stiles personally.

He'd run screaming from the house, claiming that black eyes were taunting him from behind Stiles' childish face.

"Religious people are right nuts in these parts." 

With that said, Elizabeth was even more determined to never tell her husband about the years she lost. And no matter what any of them said, she knew her son was an innocent. She did everything in her power to keep him that way too, right up until the day she died from a deadly and fast moving cancer.

She was gone in under a month, leaving her husband and young son heartbroken and struggling to figure out how they were supposed to live without her.


	2. Summer's Start

A freakin’ Alpha pack.

What. The. Supernatural. Hell.

Stiles shook his head, looking away from Scott as he leaned heavily against the windowsill in Stiles’ bedroom. He’d rolled through it not three minutes before and blurted out the ugly truth before Stiles could even get his complimentary high five from his best friend. His hand fell heavily to his side as he said, “This is crazy. How would a pack of Alphas even--”

“I dunno, dude.” Scott pulled his cell phone from his pocket, unlocking it and staring at the screen for a second before putting it back. “But we gotta go.”

“Uh go?” Stiles asked. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, Scott, but there’s a pack of Alphas running around! I think I’ll stay here. Play some WoW, eat all the junk food my dad bought yesterday and hid in his sock drawer, maybe jerk off before I hit the sack. Ya know, relieve some tension.”

“Over share,” Scott said, wincing. “You have to come.”

“I will. Later. After snacks. Did you not hear me?”

“Stiles!”

“Christ! Alright already.” He slid into his hoodie, ignoring Scott’s what-the-fuck look. He couldn’t blame him. Most people were sweating to death in the summer heat. “Where are you dragging me off too? There’d better not be any Alphas involved.”

Scott avoided his eyes and ducked out the window.

“Coward!” Stiles yelled, leaning out of it and glaring as Scott slid into his Jeep. “Just for that! I’m taking the stairs one at a time!”

Stiles knew it was petty. It didn’t make him feel bad though. It wasn’t like Scott even cared, since he was busily texting and ignored the way Stiles aggressively put his seatbelt on and cranked the vehicle. He sat there, staring at Scott’s profile. “Well?”

“Huh?” Scott looked up, his eyebrows raised in question.

Stiles took a slow, deep breath and asked calmly. “Where am I going?”

The answer he got was not acceptable.

“Allison’s house.”

“Nope!” Stiles went to yank his keys out, but Scott’s hand clamped around his wrist.

“What is wrong with you?” Scott didn’t tighten his grip when Stiles started to struggle, but he didn’t let him go either. “Look, she knows she messed up--”

“Totally beside the point! She attacked us,” Stiles hissed. He knew he was probably protesting a bit too much, because it wasn’t like Allison had attacked him directly. Yet he couldn’t reveal the real reason behind his innate fear of that lovely suburban house.

“And we need their help.” Scott was talking far too reasonably for Stiles’ taste. “With Erica and Boyd gone, there isn’t a whole lot left on our side.”

“Our side?” Stiles finally shook him off, putting the Jeep in reverse and reluctantly heading to the northern slopes of Beacon Hills. “And just who is on our side? I was under the impression that was just us.” Since Allison lost her marbles and started drinking the hunter Kool-Aid at least.

Scott fidgeted, looking resolutely out the windshield. 

“Scott?”

“Ya know how Isaac’s been hanging out with me a bit more recently?” 

“Yeah...” Unfortunately. Stiles was a big boy though, he could deal. 

“Well,” Scott finally peaked at him, “you know he’s pretty much the only Beta Derek has now.”

“Please tell me that means he killed off Lazarus 2.0.”

“No, Peter’s still around,” Scott grumbled. “But obviously Derek doesn’t trust him.”

“And you don’t trust anyone with the last name of Hale.” Stiles stopped at a four-way intersection and turned to Scott. “So what do they have to do with anything? We’re kind of on our way to see the Argents. What are you planning to do,” he chuckled, “try to build a bridge between the two?”

Scott didn’t smile.

Stiles blinked, his own laughter dying in his throat. “Are you-- Scott!”

“It’s a good idea!”

“It’s a terrible idea! Do you not remember Allison’s sworn oath to kill the ‘frothing sack of wolf bones’ who bit her mother and caused her death?” Stiles shouted. He looked back to the road and made a hard left into the Argent’s subdivision. “We’re going to die. Either from guns and arrows or claws and teeth. You read Romeo and Juliet, Scott. No good comes from getting in between a family feud.”

“I wouldn’t say all that.”

Stiles nodded. “You’re right. One can hardly call it a family feud given they’ve killed each other off almost completely!”

“You’re being dramatic,” Scott sighed. “Will you help me?” 

And when Scott asked like that, soft but determined to go on without Stiles if he had to, Stiles can’t say no. The one time he did Scott ended up with a broken leg and bruised ribs. He’d follow his brother, in everything but blood, anywhere, just like Scott did for him. It even got him bitten by a werewolf once and since Scott didn’t hold that against him, Stiles found it hard to deny him anything.

“Yes, I’ll help. What makes you think I won’t?”

“You’re kind of tense, man, and you don’t sound too thrilled with my idea either.”

“Just because I disapprove of your plan doesn’t mean I won’t help you try to keep it afloat and succeed.” This one was probably going to have them sinking before they could get through the Argent’s front door. Stiles knew that, Scott was too optimistic to believe though. It was how he worked, and Stiles loved the guy for it. 

They hadn’t been friends for too long. Granted they’d known each other for years, like most of the kids in the town did. Yet for a long time Scott wasn’t allowed to play with Stiles. They’d tried to sneak some time on the playground at school, but Scott’s dad had gone as far as spoken to their teachers about keeping them separate and never in the same class again after Kindergarten. It wasn’t until high school, a few years after Mr. McCall had skipped town, that Scott and Stiles were reunited. 

Stiles had been understandably hesitant to befriend anyone, even a child he’d known and hadn’t shown any aggression towards him. Most didn’t remember why their parents originally forbade befriending the Stilinski child, hell even the parents forgot after a while. His father being voted in as the Sheriff of the county proved that. Stiles didn’t forget though, it was kind of hard to. His own beloved mother’s last words were something that haunted him. They were his vivid reminder of what kind of person he was, and that he could choose to be better, no matter what he’d done or wanted to do in the past.

Which was why he was so dedicated to Scott. The guy stopped for squirrels to cross the road and for years (though he’d never admit it now) teared up at the site of domestic road kill. He kept Stiles honest. Uh, well, honest-er at least.

“Well, we’re here.” He stopped the Jeep at the front curb, not caring that his tire scraped the concrete and left a long black smear. “Please tell me they at least know we are coming.”

“Nope!” Scott beamed at him, grinning and hurrying to get out before Stiles could say something else.

“Oh my God.” He slowly unbuckled and hesitated at the front headlights. “Scott!” He was ignored. Typical, and he scuffed his feet through the ridiculously green front lawn. “First, deal with guns and arrows. If I survive this, it’s off to the wolf cave to be threatened with more bloodshed. What a fun night.”

“Are you finished talking to yourself?”

“No,” Stiles said mulishly. 

“Well keep it down.”

“Why? Don’t want the hunters to hear me?” Stiles ducked dramatically behind one of the pillars that held up the roof to the front stoop.

Scott rolled his eyes, biting back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.” He rang the bell and took a step back.

Stiles stepped back to his side, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Nervous?”

“Yup.”

“Good.” There was a rattle at the door. "Because I'm terrified."

They both plastered on their best smiles, the ones that got used on Melissa when she caught them whispering behind their hands. Chris Argent didn’t look like he believed them any more than she usually did.

“Boys,” he greeted. “Can I help you?” 

Scott grinned wider, but Stiles could see the Get the fuck away from me in Mr. Argent’s eyes. His own smile slipped away, his hands fisting the material of his coat. This was going to go about like Stiles expected. 

“Hey, Mr. Argent,” Scott said, stepping forward. “Can we talk to you and Allison?”

Chris thought about it for a moment, pinching his lips and tilting his head. “No.”

“Wha-- Why not?”

“Because we have nothing to say to each other, Scott. Allison told you she needed time and you said you’d respect that. This looks like the opposite. Goodnight.” He reached for the door and stepped back to close it in their faces.

Scott threw one of his hands against it, making it jolt out of Chris’ grip. “This is important. There is a pack of--”

“No!” Chris pushed Scott’s arm away. “I don’t care what it is. We aren’t getting involved. Too much has happened lately and unless it starts coming for us directly, we don’t want to know about it.”

“We?” Stiles asked. “So, you’re speaking for Allison too? She’s agreed to that? To let her former friends fight and probably die?”

A .45 was aimed at Stiles’ forehead before either boy could blink. “Don’t get her involved,” Chris whispered. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t bother her. Leave my daughter out of it. Understand?”

Stiles nodded rapidly, eyeing the shiny barrel and swallowing his heartbeat. He chanced a look at Scott. He was looking more stubborn by the second, and pissed off. Guns did that to him, had since he was little. His father had plenty, what with his job at the Sheriff's station and then later with the FBI. He’d tried to get Scott to learn to shoot, but he had been terrified of them and the one time his father had taken him to the range, Scott had panicked to the point he’d had a severe asthma attack.

That he’d been shot at more times than he can remember probably just increased the guy’s hatred. And now one was pointed at his best friend.

Time to go!

Stiles took Scott’s elbow and yanked him back with everything he had. With a biting smile, Stiles sketched Chris a salute and said, “Noted, highlighted, and underlined twice! No getting your precious, innocent, traumatized daughter involved. Pinky promise. Let’s go, Scott!”

Scott let him pull him all the way to the curb. Stiles didn’t hear the front door slam behind them, so he figured Chris didn’t want to alert Allison to their visit. It was in vain however, since Stiles and Scott could both see her looking out of her bedroom window. Scott didn’t do anything more than stare, and Stiles could only take it for a few minutes before he got into his Jeep and cranked it up. Scott jolted at the loud, grinding sound and with one last reluctant look over his shoulder, climbed in too.

“So,” Stiles drawled, “Derek’s? Or have we had enough drama for one night?”


End file.
